Adventuring

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Wow.

The past few days have been absolutly amazing, as well as incredibly painful. I think I will have to do this in two parts as I need to go eat soon.

I left central Arequipa at about 12 to go find a bus, and managed to catch one at 4, in the mean time I had one of thestandard sized 630ml beers or two. Pints seemingly do not exist in Latin America! Neither do toilets on standard buses.

Anyway, It was almost dark only an hour or so into my 3 and a half hour journey, but when we had almost reached Chivay, the place I had initially thought to stop, we passed another bus to Carbanaconde - the place I ultimatly wanted to end up. As it was dark anyway, I decided my rule of ´avoid arriving a la noche´ was out the window, so I rocked up to Carbanaconde at about 9 30 - and whilst I knew it would be cold, I was not expecting suvch a Siberian winter! Fortunatly I had befrended and Ecuadorian and two Yanks on the chicken bus, and so the Ecuadorian speaking fluent Espagne found us a room and I shared with them. As luck would have it, there was the annual town festival(I say town, it was no more than about 40 houses and a handful of mini-shops), and so we went out to the square, and marched around and danced with the towns folk and the 50 piece brass band. Where/how they aquired these instruments I do not know as this was a v poor place! Solid fun anyway.

The next day I spoke to the ex-guide who owned the hostel, and suggested my route. He said he would normally reccoment 4 days three nights, and it was a hard trail. So I asked if it was possible to do it in 3 days two nights, because the climax of the festival was on Sunday. He said it was, but he wouldn´t recommend it as it would be very hard going. As I have gold DofE, a pinch of arrogance and a tendancy to rise to a challenge, I accepted the challenge and backed myself. I am not sure if he did challenge me directly, but there was definitly something between the lines. So at 9 30, with a hand drawn map, I set off into the sun.

With walking poles in hand, I was propelled along at a fair speed, and quickly ate up the ground to the first view point. It was, to put it simply, awesome. The view of the canyon, at points over 1500m vertically below me was breathtaking, and the vistas were so unbelievable that the photo´s I have uploaded do not nearly do them justice. As I descended, walls which had been over 3km apart became only about 15m, and as I neared the bottom, I passed my first people - a muleteer and his pack animals delivering supplies to the out lying hamlets.

I stopped at a place called Llaur (pron. Yow-ra) for lunch, with the magnificant scene of the green-y blue rapids swirling just below. A little old lady sold me some hot food and more water, and at two o clock, re-energised I wads on my way again, to the next hamlet where I intended to camp. A stray dog decided to follow me for the next 2 hours, deciding to be my gaurdian angel - this was unnescessary however, as was it´s tendancy to growl at every farmer that so much as looked at me funny. I entered the village, and house after house was abandoned, the precious corrugated metal long stripped from atop the stone walls, which stood stubbornly against the wind and cold. Further along I found some working buildings, but therse had padlocks on the doors. Eventually, after about 7 or 8 buildings I heard voices, and a few tentative ´Hola?´s later, and I found myself invited into the company of a man, his brother, and his wife.

Now these people were only a tiny step above subsistance farmers, if above at all. The place we are sat was annexed onto the house/sleeping room. It was both a kitchen and a living room, two and a half walls backed onto the abode, with rough planks strewn aross the top, with gaps wide enough that had I stood up straight I suppose I could have popped my head out for a look. At one end, a large rock which surely could not have been lifted there was sat, and a variety of tin pots sat atop it. Next to that, three pointed rocks were half buried in the ground, with the embers of wood glowing in their midst, and a small couldron perched there. They invited me with gesticulations to sit on the low benches, which were just stones with scraps of material on, and the older man got up and turned the dial on the portable radio hung from its strap on the wall, and tuneless Peruvian music quickly filled the air.

I was by no means the first Gringo they had met, but there was a vibe of ´don´t see much o´your type ´round ´ere´, in the most pleasent way possible. They were very welcoming, and through a variety of means we talked for a couple of hours. They plied me with beer, which was drunk in a strange ritual, of pour your self a drink into The plastic cup (like the ones you get at childrens parties), pass on the bottle to the person on your right, drink your drink and shake the dregs out the cup, then pass it on. We went through maybe about 4 of the odd sized bottles, and the woman made more food, of which I was offered some and gladly ate. I had asked for a place to pitch my tent, but was told in no uncertain terms (I think) that I must stay with them and they would give me a bed for the night. This was wonderful, as it was getting pretty dark by this point. They took me to the building, which contained two beds, and thankfully they had a multitude of blankets on to make up for the gaping holes in the walls and roof. No-one else stayed in the builiding with me, and I set a stone andainst the door as well as my bag, and snuggled down for a still somewhat chilly nights sleep.

I took a couple of pictures of the room, but felt compelled not to whip out my camera and start snapping the kind people in this Land That Time Forgot, as it felt somehow wrong. It is a bit difficult to describe, because it was not an unease at displaying something worth more than they earn in a year or more, it was far more obscure. Anyway, words and memories can describe to an extent at least, that very perculiar night.
It has happened before where people have invited me to stay, both in Costa Rica, and in India, but the former was when I was in a group, and the latter I could have found a hostal had I chosen to, but this was in a far more unusual context, with people who lived wit minimal means.

I left the next morning at about 7 30, thanking them and not begrudging the woman 5 soles (about 1pound10) that she asked for. I knew this was going to be a hard days trek, as I was now well well off the tourist trail of the Canyon, and I arrived at Fura, the next hamlet along, about two hours later. I have put a picture of this place up so you get a bit more of a feel of where I was. It took me about 20 minutes to find the rabbit path that would take me to the waterfalls. It was a hard walk, harder than I had expected up, but arriving at such a remote place which was so unspoilt was amazing feeling. To work for your prize is undeniably better than a coach or an easy organized tour to it; you simply appreciate what it is you are getting so much more. You can imagine my surprise then when I saw a man andhis family pass me, as they had been collecting firewood! More than this, he had a machete as long as his leg. But it was all good, Peruvians are a very short people, so it was little more than a pen-knife - I had no reason to be un-nerved. I had a plan to go collect some water from the plunge pool (as I am writing this, we can assume the water from this 3000+ m pool did not contain anything too nasty) and possibly go for an ice cold swim. I got in knee deep for about 5 seconds, and then my legs went numb. I did not go for a swim. You would not believe how cold this water was. I knew it would be cold, but this was a whole different level. Liquid nitrogen would have been more agreeable than this water. Anyway, I set off after had a megre breckfast of stale bred with honey and a couple of apples.

The next few hours were hard, not least because I was continuing uphill and it was fast approaching the heat of the day. Fortunatly I am an Englishman, and so the mid-day sun did not deter me from pounding on. I arrived at another vantage point from which I could see the Rio Colca snaking its way along the valley, looking down from the near vertical cliffs so high above. This was definitly not a trek for anyone with vertigo! I was hurting by this point though, but a couple of ibuprofen and the last of my apples later and I was on my way again, downhill for the last two and a half hours of my day to a place called Oasis, a touristy campsite at the bottom of the canyon. I lost the path at one point, and then saw it about 100m below me, and so found a rabbit path (I say rabbit path, Vicuña path would be more acurate, the small Llama like creatures that roam the slopes), that headed in the direction and so took that down.

At this point, I fell into a cactus.

Now, I thought falling into a cactus would be somewhat similar to falling into a thorn bush. How wrong was I. Cactus´spikes are really long and really hard, and they break off when you fall on them. Not only do they hurt, but they hurt again when you hafe to pull them out of you hand, lef, and more excruciatingly, bum. MORE than this even, they leave you with an itchy rash for half an hour. Basically cactus´suck. I took a lot more care after this incident. Soon after I joined one of the motorway-esq paths down to the camp, now very much back on the gringo trail.

I arrived at Sangalle, a.k.a the Oasis at around 4 30, just as the sun was falling behind the peaks behind me. I agreed a price of 5 soles with a hostal owner for a place to camp, and this place even had a swimming pool, the water syphoned off from a nearby spring. I re-met the Americans I had befrended in Huacacina as well as enjoying the company of a load more French people, including french English teacher and his wife, whom were a lot of fun, and we ate a dinner of cold spagetti offered by the hostal owner. I use the term hostal lightly here, it was just a few huts with straw matresses in. I then put on all my clothes and settled down for a cold night, kept awake by the hut from my feet, ankles, calves, knees, hips, lower back, upper back, shoulders, neck - not to mention the blisters on both my feet from walking too hard and hands from poling too hard!

I woke up early (you tend to go to bed at no later than 8 when it is this cold, so you wake up early too), at around 6, and stayed in bed until 7, when it was just about warm enough to break camp. Then I steeled my nerve for the final push. I have no idea of the distance, but the difference in hightr was 1200m - 1200m which was straight up, no flats, no downhill. This was the epitome of the never ending hill. My aches had if anything got worse, and this took me 3 and a half hours, which was still a reasonable speed I am told. The last hour was horrific though, with the air thinning, and my water gone, finding the breath as well as the energy was incredibly hard. Anyway, I did it, (obviously), but I really did find this challenging. Like almost marathon level challenging.

I arrived back at the hostal I had stayed at previopusly, dragging my feet the last 100m, and who should I see just arriving? Only the Swiss I had met at Lima airport! This meant a room share was easy, and far cheaper.

They went off for an explore and I collapsed on the bed, then went for a huge meal of alpaca and rice. Great shout. Alpaca has the taste of lamb, but a texture more akin to something between pork and beef. Really nice. Really needed! Then I accidently broke the lock on the door to our room. Well, I didn´t break it, it must have been already broken, but either way, aftewr I tried to use it, it worked no more. For the next hour, the owners tried to get in. With bars at the window, none of us could fit through to try it from the inside. This led to the owner going out onto the street and finding a small urchin who could fit through, and much to my amusement, the child was successfully passed through. Alas, he could barely reach the door handle so was no help. Eventually, the exasperated owned simply smashed the lock mechanism through, so all was well again.

In the afternoon, there was a bullfight, and I really wanted to see this, and so at about 3 o clock went down to it. At this stage, the volunteer matadoors were goading the bull with the red clothes and the lasoo,which was quite amusing to watch. However I was utterly exhausted and so went back to the hostal where I promptly passed out. When I awoke, the bullfight had finished, and I had missed the proffessionals coming out to kill the bulls. this may be a good thins, but be that as it may, I had walked hard to get back for it, so was a tad miffed. I think there is probably a pretty metaphore hiding somewhere in there for pushing too hard to fit too much in to too little space, but then failing to actually enjoy it all - but I am not going to try and tease her out. Anyway, later that night, after more alpaca, we went out for more dancing and the fireworks display.

The best and most dangerous fireworks display I have ever been to then commenced. There were several frames that had been ercted, made of bamboo and rolled up paper filled with gunpowder. With no prior warning, different sections of the flimsy constructs were lit, and an array of complex catherine wheels and rockets show off. the moving parts on these things were amazing, and a testement to ingenuity. However bits would occasioally fly off and shower the crowd. The younger boys made a game of picking up bits of fizzling fireworks and throwing them at ach oither when they thought they were about to exploade. There parents found this hilarious. The old woman in me kept saying ít will all end in tears, but she doesn´t speak spanish either so it was a bit pointless. More ancing commenced in another very fun night.

I left the next morning for Cruz del Condor, and here I saw another beautiful velley, but this one had condor´s too! They are biiiig birds. I really enjoyed watching them, and then the bus arrived to take me back to Arequipa.

The bus ride was far more entertaining during the day, and as we crossed the high passes of 4500m, the landscape became very surreal. I have a few pictures of this vast airless landscape. The blighted plains streched for miles, ending only at mountains perched precairously on the horizon. Scrub grasses grew, and alpaca scratched a living off these. A frosty sun hungover this cealing of the world, with once every 50miles or so, a stone hut with a thatched roof sat. These dwellings always looked lost, and there were always dozens of stone cairns, piles of rocks no more than half a metre high around them. Either a ritual to some occult and unintelligible law, or a testement to the madness that had brought whoever made them there in the first place.

Descending from these high peaks, the coach rumbled back into Arequipa, a city sprawling under the afternoon shadow of El Misti, the volcano acting as sentinal for the city.

I go to Puno and Lake Titicaca tonight, I hope it is as funny as the name suggests! My blog is now more or less upto date I think, and my iPod charged, so tonight will not be too bad, although the last couple of hours will have cost me some. Time to go buy some more duct tape for my boots...

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